Obsession (A Murderous Mind Book 2), page 10
Cold rage spread across John’s body, his muscles tightening and his jaw clenching.
He didn’t speak, just stared as the detective made his way to the desk.
“I’ve done a bit of research on you, Mr. Hilt.”
John saw the folder for the first time as Tremock brought it up from his side. He placed it on John’s desk and flipped open the cover with a finger. A newspaper article sat on top, and after John saw the headline, he didn’t need to read anything else.
London Student Found Dead in Park.
“If you move past the first article there, you’ll see more,” the detective continued. “Though, I’m not sure you need to look through them, given that they’re your handiwork.”
John looked up. “So now I commit every murder, not only in the States but in other countries as well?”
The detective smiled. “A trail of dead people follows you from thirteen until now. Harold. You remember him, don’t you? Did you have something to do with that too?”
“Oh, yeah. I was a murdering thirteen-year-old. There are fifteen bodies buried beneath my middle school. Have you started digging there as well?”
“I probably should, huh? But no, not yet.”
John looked at the detective, who still had the slick grin pasted on his face.
“Anything else? You know why I don’t have a lawyer?” John said. “Because you don’t have shit except for a folder with some old newspaper articles in it. Nothing else. You want to pin murders on me, then get some evidence. Until then, stay the fuck out of my office.”
“No problem. The next time I come, it’ll be with a warrant. Does that work for you?”
“That works fine,” John said, his rage burning every fiber of his body. “Now get the fuck out.”
“So, now he knows about London?” John asked.
The door was closed, and John sat on one of the chairs in his office, away from his desk and computer.
“Apparently. I told you not to let him come in here.”
“You also told me to kill those people in London.”
“Tomayto, tomahto. You, me…what’s the difference?” Harry asked, sitting down on a chair across from John. “We need to focus on where we go from here. All this bullshit is holding us back.”
John laughed. “Holding us back? What do you mean, ‘us?’ It’s holding me back from living the rest of my life with my family, but I don’t think you’ve been held back one iota, Harry.”
“We could be doing so much more.”
“More? Father Charles wasn’t enough for you?” John spat the words with a vitriol he had never used on Harry before. “The only person who knew everything. The person who brought me to God. We killed him, and that’s not enough?”
“He was going to kill you, John. Or don’t you remember the knife he was holding in his hand when you turned around?”
“I deserve to die,” John said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “He did it so I would stop.”
“You make excuses for anyone but yourself, don’t you? But truth be told, there were other ways to stop you. He didn’t want to break the confessional seal, but he was willing to commit murder? The man hated you.
“And more truth. No, he’s not enough. You had five years while I left you alone. Now it’s our time to do this together. You know it as well as I do. You feel it in your blood—the itch to keep going. Don’t act like you don’t think about it, either. I see your thoughts as well as you see me, and I’ve seen what you think about your secretary out there. What she would look like with a bullet in the center of her forehead.”
John didn’t say anything.
“We need to get out of this place, John. We need to leave this state and find somewhere else to live.”
“What are you talking about? Move my family?”
“No,” Harry said. “Leave your family. You want Diane watching you sit in a courtroom while Detective Dickface testifies to all the evidence he’s collected? You need to get out of this state for a while and have some fun. I’ll leave when I’ve had enough, and you can come back. Or you can move your family somewhere new. Staying here? It’s not a good idea.”
“I’m not leaving them. Forget the whole idea.”
“John, I’m finding it hard to control myself. You know that. How long did it take you to decide you were going to kill the priest? Did you even make a decision, or was it predetermined? You killed him the same as anyone else. That’s because I’m losing control, which means you’re losing control. What else could happen, John? Think about it. Has anything like that happened before?”
John knew it. Had he refused to face it? Something had happened a long time ago to someone else. Someone he had done his best to forget. It could happen again. He closed his eyes, and what passed through his mind was the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen. Something that hadn’t occurred but could.
His wife and kids, tied to three chairs. Backs together so they stared out in a circle. Their mouths gagged, and all of them crying for their lives. Dark mascara dripped down Diane’s face, and snot ran from his boy’s noses and over their lips because they couldn’t wipe it away.
John walked in front of them, holding a gun, sweat dripping down his forehead.
He stopped in front of Mark, then faced his son. He raised the gun, the muffled screams falling on deaf ears.
John opened his eyes and looked at Harry. “Never. That would never happen.”
“John, never is a long, long time. Three weeks ago, did you think you’d kill the priest?”
John didn’t reply.
“Exactly. You need to get this out of your system. Come back here later and deal with whatever Detective Dickface cooks up. Or leave, then come back and kill him. While you’re gone, the case will go cold, and he’ll move on. When you come back, just make sure he doesn’t have any more chances to arrest you.”
“What about Diane and the boys? What the hell do I tell them?”
“Your company is big. I know you can find a reason to work somewhere else for a while.”
Robert Vondi hadn’t been lying when he’d said he had files. Scott supposed it made sense, given that Lori and John had seen the doctor before computers were the next big thing. Still, three boxes full of papers weren’t an easy load to carry.
He dropped the last box in his living room. It had been a long day. A really long one. Ten hours in the car. An hour talking to Robert, then loading the car.
He was finally home.
Scott collapsed on the couch. He flipped the light on since the sun was going down.
“I don’t have any idea about the order of the boxes,” Robert had said. “I took them when he died and never went through them. Just didn’t have any interest in his business. I thought about the legality, and I imagined I could get in trouble if someone came around asking. Don't get me into any."
“Completely understand. I’m only looking into this for my family. No one else concerns me,” Scott said.
“I haven’t thought about Gerald in a while,” the man continued as if he hadn’t heard Scott. “He died almost twenty years ago, and we were never that close. We liked each other well enough. We were just very different, I guess. He went to med school, and I worked in big oil.” Robert didn’t look at Scott as he spoke, just stared off the porch into the yard. “I wish he hadn’t gone like that. No one should go like that.”
“I’m sorry. What happened, if you don’t mind talking about it?”
“To be honest, I’d rather not. It isn’t something I ever want to think about again.”
Those words ran through Scott's mind the whole way home.
He knew Vondi had died, but not the details. He had actively avoided reading anything about the man’s death after the pieces he’d found said it was tragic. He knew Lori and John had stopped seeing him because he had died and everyone had been stunned, but no one had said anything about murder. He didn’t remember how they’d said he died, and he would have recalled if it had been brutal.
Did John or Lori know?
If so, why hadn’t they told him?
Now he had three boxes full of the late doctor’s notes. He was unsure if he wanted to read them. If he did, he imagined he’d be up all night, and even though the older he got, the less he slept, he didn’t think an all-nighter was good for someone his age.
But he wanted to know what the notes said.
Scott pulled the first box over and lifted it off the floor to the cushion next to him on the couch.
He started reading.
18
PRESENT DAY
“You see them?” Harry asked.
“It’s nothing,” John replied.
“If nothing is the cops, that is nothing.”
John glanced in the rearview mirror. There was a police car behind him. There had been for some time—a cruiser that took every turn with him. It remained two cars back no matter what John did.
“They’re following us. That what you think?”
“That’s what I know,” Harry said. “For now, in a cruiser since they want you to know they’re following. When that disappears, there will be other cars. You won’t see them, but they’ll be watching us. All the time now since Dickface is sure you’re the one. He’s going to look at everything you do, and if you don’t listen to me, eventually, we’re going to slip up, and he’s going to catch us. We have to get out of here, John.”
John's eyes went back to the road. He tried to ignore the cop car.
Harry was right. He could call the car nothing and think these guys were just going the same way as him, but he knew that if he took a crazy turn, that car would stay right behind him. Same distance.
A flash of his family tied up flew through his mind. Harry was right about that, too. Things were slipping from his control. John should have stopped himself before he harmed Father Charles. A year ago? If something like that had come up, though he saw no possible reason for it, John would’ve subdued the old priest, then figured out what the hell was going on.
This week, he had killed the man.
Harry had said he wouldn’t stop. He would keep going until he was satisfied, and he wasn’t there yet. Not even close.
That led to the inevitable question: should John leave? What would happen if he did?
His mind went through the list as it would have scanned a business plan.
The heat would eventually die down.
He could maybe satisfy Harry.
When he was ready to come back, he could finish Tremock without as much pressure surrounding the situation.
The negatives were simple. He left his wife when she needed him. When she was ready to walk out if he didn’t change.
If he stayed, everything would fall apart.
“I might take a vacation,” John said.
“What?”
John didn’t look at Diane. He remained on his back, looking at the ceiling. Glancing at her now would be disastrous since he couldn’t take what he would see in her eyes. He knew it would hurt when she fully understood what he was saying.
“I need to get away for a little while—from everything.”
“From me? From the kids?” she asked, disbelief in her voice. “That’s what you mean?”
“Jesus, Diane. Don’t do this. I just need some space. From this goddamn cop, from my sister. I need to get my head straight, and I think I can do that better if I’m alone for a little while.”
His wife was quiet for a few minutes, both of them listening to the night's silence.
“How long?”
“A month, maybe two.”
“Two months, John? You’re going to leave the kids and me for two months? Let’s just call this what it is, then—a trial separation.”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Diane. I don’t want to separate—”
“Except that’s exactly what you’re doing,” she said. “You’re separating yourself from us.”
“I just need some time to be alone. That’s all I’m saying. I’m not leaving you.” He paused, wondering if the next sentence would come out positive or negative. “I’m thinking about working from our San Francisco office. I’m sure my boss would okay it. This isn’t me going off the deep end. I just think that if I go away, I’ll find some peace. Then I’ll come back and live a normal life again.”
“What about the cop?”
“I got a lawyer,” John told her, having no other lie loaded in his chamber. “If the cop comes back here, refer him to the lawyer. I’ll have him call you tomorrow.”
“What’s his name?” Diane asked.
“Johnson, I think.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. A buddy at work recommended him.” John felt like he might sweat blood. Red liquid would drip from the pores on his face.
“When are you planning on leaving?”
“By the end of the week.”
“You’re going to tell the kids?”
He finally looked at her, anger spiking in his mind. “Are you kidding? You think I’d just leave without talking to them?”
“I’m just asking, John.”
He looked at the ceiling again. “Yes, I’m going to talk to them. I’ll tell them it’s for work and that I’ll be back soon. This is for the best, Diane. It’ll let me recharge. Get rid of some of the pressure weighing on me. When I come back, I’ll be different. I’ll be who I used to be.”
19
A PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG MAN
Lori had chosen her words very carefully.
She had planned this conversation since it might be one of the most important in her entire life, but she didn’t want their talk to sound scripted. She needed it to sound fluid, as if Scott’s input would help shape the decision.
“What would you say to John finishing high school overseas?”
Scott laughed from the counter. He pressed his lips together because if he opened his mouth, he would spew coffee all over the kitchen. “What?” he asked after swallowing, a smile on his face.
“I think it would be an amazing opportunity for him,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks. I believe we could do it.”
“I mean, I know we could do it, Lori, but why? First, private schools cost a lot of money. A lot of money. And the schools here are fine.”
“It’s not about whether they’re fine. I think him going overseas for two years would be absolutely fabulous. When he applies to colleges, he can put that on his application. That’s going to set him apart from everyone else.”
Scott shrugged, conceding the argument. He took a sip of coffee. “Have you even talked to him about it?”
“Not yet. I wanted to see what you would say first.”
“Well, there’s a lot to discuss. When are applications due? It’s eight months until the next school year starts. What will it cost? What will he say?”
Lori nodded, a rush of happiness taking over. It appeared that he was okay with discussing the possibility. “Yeah, I’ve been looking into it. It’s about twenty thousand a year. We have the college fund ready, so we’re not paying anything there. We could afford forty thousand.”
Scott’s lips tightened. “We could afford it, but it’s not something I want to do lightly. What’s he going to get being over there that he can’t get here?”
Lori smiled. She knew her husband well enough to know that if even a crack existed in the door to opportunity for his children, it would open no matter what.
“I want to talk to you about something,” Lori began.
“About?” John asked.
Lori had waited until they’d ordered lunch so they would have some uninterrupted time. He didn’t go to school today because of a dentist appointment, and now they sat in a small diner called the Grill.
“How are you liking school?”
John smiled. “I don’t think you’ve ever asked me that before.”
“I know. Outside of the one incident when you were younger, you’ve never gotten in any trouble, and your grades are always fine, so I figured things were good. Are they?”
“They’re okay,” John said and took a sip of his Pepsi.
“Your father and I have been talking about something very important, and we want to see what you think.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
“We wanted to know how you would feel about finishing high school in London.” Lori gently laid the topic on the table like a feather floating down from the sky.
“London, as in London, England?” John’s eyes widened.
“Yes, that London.”
“For two years?”
“Well, during the school year. Holidays and summers, you’d be here with us, so it’s really only a year and a half or so.”
“You want me to go?” John asked. She couldn’t see his emotions on his face, but she knew his mind was churning. He was trying to understand what this meant and why it was being offered.
“John, I’ve talked to Dr. Vondi.”
“What did he say?”
Lori sighed and leaned back in her chair. She had known it would come to this. She could give Scott any number of reasons why John should go, but she couldn’t do it with her son. She didn’t consider what she told Scott lies since they were all true, just not the reason that mattered. John? He would know. Even if they never spoke about it, always using some other topic as a buffer, their connection was too strong for lies.
“He said he’s concerned about you.”
“Hasn’t he always been?” John asked.
“I think...” She paused to make sure that he understood the gravity of what she was about to say. “I think he’s more concerned now than he was before.”
She looked at her son, pleading with him to understand what she was saying. To not make this difficult. To accept what she offered and get out of the reach of anyone who might harm him.
“How’s school?” she asked, not referring to attending classes.
John’s eyes narrowed. God, she just wanted him to tell her the truth. To recognize what was happening and what could happen if they didn’t act.
